"
These versicles, though they might easily be passed over as commonplace,
hold a peculiar inner radiance that perhaps issued from the dawn of a
lifelong happiness for Hawthorne at this period.
V.
AT BOSTON AND BROOK FARM.
1838-1842.
Hawthorne's mood at this time was one of profound dissatisfaction at his
elimination from the active life of the world. "I am tired of being an
ornament," he said, with great emphasis, to a friend. "I want a little
piece of land that I can call my own, big enough to stand upon, big
enough to be buried in. I want to have something to do with this
material world." And, striking his hand vigorously on a table that stood
by: "If I could only make tables," he declared, "I should feel myself
more of a man." He was now thirty-four, and the long restraint and
aloofness of the last thirteen years, with the gathering consciousness
that he labored under unjust reproach of inaction, and the sense of loss
in being denied his share in affairs, had become intolerable. It was
now, also, that a new phase of being was opened to him. He had become
engaged to Miss Sophia Peabody, a sister of his friend.
President Van Buren had been two years in office, and Mr. Bancroft, the
historian, was Collector of the port of Boston. One evening the latter
was speaking, in a circle of Whig friends, of the splendid things which
the Democratic administration was doing for literary men. "But there's
Hawthorne," suggested a lady who was present.
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